


The Abyss

by Saucery



Series: Hartwin Stories [19]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Amorality, Angst, Arrogance, Barely Legal, Businessmen, CEO, Camboy Eggsy, Class Differences, Class Issues, Computers, Consent Issues, Control Issues, Creepy, Cross-Generation Relationship, Disturbing Themes, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, Dubious Morality, Exhibitionism, Exploitation, Filthy, Gentleman Bastards, Internet, Kink Negotiation, Loneliness, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Money, Negotiations, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Older Man/Younger Man, Online Relationship, Orders, Pining, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Poverty, Powerful Harry, Prostitution, Rich Harry, Romance, Secret Identity, Secrets, Sex Work, Sneaky Bastards, Stalking, Strip Tease, Stripping, Sugar Daddy, Technology, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Video Cameras, Voyeurism, Wealth, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Webcams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy is a camboy jacking it off for a paying audience. Harry is the lonely businessman who gets dangerously obsessed with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> “And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.” — Friedrich Nietzsche, _Beyond Good and Evil_.

* * *

 

The video quality was grainy, with pixels freezing and unfreezing in discolored patches. There was a bed in the foreground, rucked-up sheets and lumpy pillows beneath a Star Wars poster peeling off the wall, and on the bed was a boy of about nineteen or twenty, shirtless and in boxers, spreading his legs.

Harry paused, Guinness halfway to his mouth. It was admittedly intrusive, keeping track of his senior employees’ pastimes like this, but, well, needs must. He couldn’t have his underlings indulging their baser instincts on company time. It was unprofessional, insincere and detrimental to productivity. It was also potentially dangerous to the firm’s reputation and security, and practically invited the type of scandalous blackmail that led to the leaking of trade secrets.

Which was why Harry took exactly five minutes out of his busy daily schedule to spy on his employees’ actions, to randomly switch between their screens using ActivTrack, a software that Merlin, resident misanthrope and tech guru, had recommended and installed on Harry’s computer.

So, Charlie Hesketh preferred cruising for camboys to doing the work he himself was paid for, did he? It appeared Hesketh was due for a formal reprimand, followed by a firing if he did not cease his extracurricular activities.

On the screen, the boy grinned—a surprisingly cheeky, daring grin—and snuck a hand into his boxers.

Well.

A part of Harry—the part that hadn’t found the time for conquests or lovers in far too long—absently noted the website address at the top of Hesketh’s browser. And the ridiculous nickname—Eggsy—that flashed beside the chat window.

There was no harm in taking note of those details. After all, if one didn’t indulge in such habits during work, and instead did so at home, from within a painstakingly customized, heavily-encrypted, million-dollar firewall, then that was one’s personal business, and not the firm’s.

Notwithstanding the fact that the firm itself was Harry’s business. Literally.

 

* * *

Further surveillance of Hesketh revealed that he had been trading corporate intelligence to Richmond Valentine, Harry’s rival and arch-nemesis, which meant that—unfortunately—Harry couldn’t fire him. Or even reprimand him. It would be tactically unsound to do so.

After all, if Hesketh left, it would be directly into Valentine’s employ, taking Kingsman’s classified data with him. No, it was better by far to keep Hesketh bound by legal contract to Kingsman, and therefore vulnerable to timely litigation. Meanwhile, Harry could continue to feed him false information, information that would, by virtue of its falseness, sabotage Valentine’s plans more than it would Harry’s.

“You’re a devil,” Merlin had said, almost approvingly, and Harry hadn’t bothered contradicting him.

For, devil-like, he had taken to preying on youths that needed money. That was what he was doing, wasn’t he? A man in his early fifties, seedy and vile, no different from those porcine, greying, grubby-handed perverts that stuffed bills of cash into rentboys’ pockets in exchange for oral sex in grimy public toilets, amid the angry scratches of graffiti and the mingled stenches of urine and shit.

While Harry’s particular brand of perversion was more removed and less tactile, it was just as filthy and morally questionable. Harry had no doubt of that. His shame—or the hot, roiling mess in his chest that ought to have been shame—didn’t stop him from logging in as “thetailor” every evening, going directly to Eggsy’s channel, and paying the boy to strip to a truly terrible selection of faux-sexy music.

So, this was what Hesketh was addicted to. And understandably so.

It wasn’t as though Harry hadn’t considered virtual titillation of this sort, or that he’d never visited a camsite out of idle curiosity, but he’d not seen the appeal until that damned cheeky grin had pulled him in.

The grin, and the body so obscenely perfect that every flex of muscle and twist of sinew burned itself into Harry’s retinas like a pornographic shadow-play, stark and lovely and cruel. Blinding.

The video resolution was much higher, now that it wasn’t being rerouted through ActivTrack. It verged on HD, and Harry couldn’t complain, because it gave him crystalline visibility, visibility that could only be surpassed by touch.

Eggsy was online between six and nine p.m. everyday, indicating that he was likely either a college student struggling to earn his fees via streaming camsites, or that he had a conventional job that occupied him during daylight hours.

Harry often wondered about Eggsy, during interminable meetings and elevator pitches—wondered not only whether any client had succeeded in fucking Eggsy, but also about what lay behind Eggsy’s deceptively blithe grin, about the ghosts that must necessarily haunt the psyche of a youngster selling himself on the internet.

Unless it was a hobby. A hobby that was enjoyable and, incidentally, profitable.

But Harry didn’t think so, given that there was always something that Eggsy withheld, something that prevented him from being _utterly_ wanton, something that had him granting certain requests but not others, something that had him listing rules in his profile.

  * **Rule #1:** No private contact details will be provided.
  * **Rule #2:** Stripping and masturbation only.
  * **Rule #3:** By “masturbation,” I mean wanking off, not anything else, so don’t bother asking.
  * **Rule #4:** Payment in advance, using the website’s transfer system.
  * **Rule #5:** No in-person meetings or solicitations for meetings.
  * **Rule #6:** Any violation of the above rules will result in me reporting you and having you banned from the site.



All very reasonable rules. All very… grudging.

It would be uncouth to violate those rules, or to pressure Eggsy into violating them, but perhaps subtler negotiations would not go amiss. The lad obviously needed money. Harry had money. Harry obviously needed more of Eggsy. Eggsy had more of himself to give.

Harry negotiated acquisitions and mergers worth more than the economies of smaller island nations; he would have no trouble negotiating a mutually beneficial arrangement with Eggsy. It was Harry’s area of expertise.

And his expertise gave him an uncanny sixth sense for what was and was not acceptable, for what people were and were not willing to offer, and at what price.

Harry had rules of his own, rules of commerce and engagement that had built his international empire of products and services, that had led to him absorbing GlaxoSmithKlein into said empire, rebranding Nestlé, and stealing Boston Robotics from under Google’s nose. Harry was the sole owner of more industrial patents and pharmaceutical research than any other human being on earth, and he prided himself on it.

Owning a _boy_ —a single, desperate boy—would not pose a challenge.

Harry’s first rule of acquisition was, quite simply, to buy out the competition.

So that was precisely what he did.

On a Saturday that had him retiring to his [Hyde Park penthouse](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2618446/Flat-central-London-expensive-property-Britain-wealthy-Eastern-European-buys-140million.html) earlier than usual, he poured himself a whiskey, sat facing the great glass windows that overlooked the London skyline, and logged on to ManRoulette.com even as he admired the changing hues of the sunset, imagining Eggsy’s skin changing hues in a similar fashion, whether from blushes or bruises or…

It was fifty minutes past five. Eggsy was due to arrive in ten minutes.

Harry, rather than booking a session of twenty minutes, as he was wont to do, bought every session there was, through to nine. Thanks to advance bookings recently being enabled, Harry bought out tomorrow’s sessions, too, and Monday’s, and Tuesday’s, and Wednesday’s, and Friday’s. That amounted to total of approximately £5000, a pittance to Harry, but a goldmine to Eggsy.

Then, Harry sipped his whiskey, and waited.

Sure enough, Eggsy messaged him immediately after signing in and switching on his webcam.

“Look, bruv,” he said, in his charmingly unrefined Cockney accent, “I appreciate the income, but this ain’t that kinda movie.”

_I mean no harm_ , Harry typed, in response. _I merely desire your companionship on a more… extensive basis_.

“Companionship? That’s the thing. I don’t offer ‘companionship.’ I whack off for a global audience, not a fancy creep with tons of money to spare.”

_If I have unsettled you, I apologize. I am happy to cancel my bookings and claim a refund_.

Eggsy hesitated. He glanced aside, at an object outside of the camera’s frame—a photograph? A memento?—and his features twisted for a breathtakingly honest moment, prior to smoothing out into their normal matter-of-factness. “Depends. What do you expect me to do for all that?”

_More of the same. Nothing more, nothing less._

“Don’t mess me about, gov’nor. You’ll try to get me used to you before asking for more, but I know you’ll ask for more. So let’s be real from the start, eh?”

It was Harry’s turn to hesitate. The lad was clever. Cleverer than Harry had foreseen. Perhaps honesty from his end would pay dividends, even if it was a partial honesty, concealing his core motivations while confessing his initial intentions.

_Very well. I hope to have you performing exclusively for me, allowing me to speak to you in more than just typeface, and following my instructions to masturbate for me in more ways than are currently on offer. I do not, however, expect you to meet me anywhere, or to tell me who you are. Nor will I tell you who I am. My privacy is as important to me as yours is to you. Therefore, I will not violate your basic tenet of not sharing contact details._

“Ever?” Eggsy said, dubiously.

_Ever_. What else could Harry say? _I will not withdraw my patronage if you refuse to perform a specific act. I have no interest in forcing your compliance._

“No, just in buying it,” Eggsy huffed, and after a brief delay, he said, “I suppose we’ll treat this week as a trial period. You’ve bought me till next Saturday, so I’ll give it a go. But I’ll report you if you get dodgy, even if it means losing your… patronage. Got it?”

_You have my agreement_.

“All right, then,” Eggsy said, pasting on that grin again, although it was wobblier than was customary. “What should I do?”

 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I swear that this is _the last_ new Hartwin story I’ll post, until I’ve finished at least one of the others. Promise. Don’t kill me!
> 
> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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